


Blackouts

by bisexualdisaster221



Series: The Spider System [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Alters, Childhood Trauma, DID Alters, Depersonalization, Derealization, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Gen, I did a lot of research for this please tell me if I got anything wrong, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Peter Doesn't Know He's Spider-Man, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker has DID - Dissociative Identity Disorder, Sexual Abuse, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26050297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualdisaster221/pseuds/bisexualdisaster221
Summary: Peter has been blacking out ever since he was four years old, but whenever he was faced with the chance to bring it up, he's always shied away from it. But now, he might not have a choice.
Relationships: Ben Parker & Peter Parker, Ben Parker/May Parker (Spider-Man), May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: The Spider System [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892590
Comments: 47
Kudos: 610





	Blackouts

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER/TRIGGER WARNINGS
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't have DID, nor do I know anyone with DID. I have been researching DID [and similar conditions] for well over a year now, and I have talked with different systems about their experiences with the condition. If you want to see the specific instances, they'll be at the end of the story.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: I censor potential triggers here, but I do not censor them within the work.  
> \- D*ssociation, Spaciness  
> \- Questioning R*ality  
> \- Sw*tching  
> \- D*rmancy [an alter goes d*rmant, although it's vague and not mentioned outright in the story]  
> \- S*xual Ab*se [mentions of 2 instances, Skip and another babysitter Peter can't remember, as well as talk of it later on]  
> \- *njuries [injuries from s*xual *ssault, as well as injuries from b*llying]  
> \- Minor Character D**th [Peter's parents d*e early on in the story; nothing specific, it's just mentioned a few times]  
> \- Mentions of Tr**ma [early on, but it's also addressed later on in the story too]

The first tipoff should have been that Peter couldn’t remember his childhood babysitter.

He remembered a few things about her- she seemed nice enough, especially the first few times they met. He remembered her sickly-sweet smile, how forced it seemed, but being as young as he was, he hadn’t thought to question it.

“Hey sweetie, how do you like the new babysitter?” his mom had asked one day over dinner as she reached over the table to cut his chicken.

_“You hate her.”_

Peter had frowned at the voice. His mom had always told him that hating people wasn’t nice. “I dunno,” he’d mumbled, a bit on-edge. His legs had been sore, and pain meant he was fussy.

His mom and dad had shared a look with each other. He went to kick his legs, but winced at how sore they were.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” his dad had asked carefully.

_“Tell her that she’s awful.”_

“I dunno what she’s like,” he’d said resolutely, trying to fight against his inner voice.

“Peter, sweetie, you’ve spent eight hours with her every day for the last month, how do you not know?”

He’d looked at his mom, innocence in his eyes. “I just don’t know, mommy. Can I have ketchup, please?”

Later that night, as he went up for his bath, he remembered feeling drowsy. He had a headache and was still fussy from pain and he felt weird, like he wasn’t entirely there in his body. One minute his mom had been helping him out of his clothes, and the next, he’d woken up to the sound of his alarm, his mom shaking him awake.

“Sweetie?” she’d sniffled, tears in her eyes, “you’re not gonna see her anymore, okay?”

He’d been confused, but he nodded. He didn’t want to make his mom more upset than she already was.

She hugged him and told him that she was taking the day off so they could hang out. He’d been super excited- who wouldn’t be? His mom was spending the _whole day_ with him!!

And in his excitement, he’d forgotten all about the incident the night before. The bruises on his thighs eventually faded, his inner voice was less mean, his legs weren’t sore, and all memories of the babysitter faded, until he couldn’t remember that he’d even had a babysitter in the first place.

.  
.  
.

The second tipoff should have been what had happened when the bullying started.

For some reason, nobody in his preschool class liked Peter. He was “weird” and “gay,” according to the boys in his class, and Ned was the only one who seemed to tolerate him, let alone try to be his friend.

On this particular day, Peter had been cornered by a few boys during recess. He’d been crying and laying on the ground, covering his head with his arms and begging for help. He’d felt foggy and his head had hurt, and suddenly, he was sitting on the bathroom floor in nothing but his underwear, blood on the tiles and a first-aid kit ripped open in front of him.

God, it hurt so much. He might not have been able to remember being beaten up, but god he could remember the aftermath.

 _“It’s okay,”_ his inner voice soothed, _“You’re okay.”_

“I’m not,” he whimpered, trembling like a baby bird as he hugged his knees to his chest.

 _“Yes you are,”_ the voice insisted. Somehow it sounded different than usual. The voice, up to that point, had always been male, but now, the voice sounded female. _“I’ll help you.”_

“What am I s’posed to do?” he sniffled.

_“Relax. Untense your body.”_

Peter obeyed, limbs jerking as he tried his best to relax.

_“Good job! This might feel a little funny, okay? I’m just going to help you.”_

“Wh-what do you mean?”

 _“It’ll be over soon,”_ the voice ignored his question.

Peter felt a weird sensation, like how he’d felt earlier, only more intense. It felt like someone was pushing him back into his own head. He pressed his little hands into his face and sobbed. He felt spacey and foggy again. He blinked, and suddenly he was being tucked in bed, his dad hovering over him with a concerned look on his face.

“Hey Pete, you with me?”

“Daddy?” he whispered, reaching a hand up in the air. His dad grasped his tiny hand between both of his larger ones. He felt sick, and the room was spinning. “Daddy I don’t feel good.”

“I know, buddy,” his dad whispered, tears pricking in his eyes. “I saw the bruises. Pete, why didn’t you tell me you were being bullied?”

Peter sniffed, choked, and began to cry. Alarmed, his dad bent further over him, one hand pulling away to stroke Peter’s hair.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “I didn’t think it was important.”

“Pete,” his dad sat down on the bed, “your wellbeing is the most important thing to me and Mommy. We want what’s best for you, and we’re willing to do anything for you. But that means you have to tell us about these things.”

Peter sniffled and hid his face in his pillow, nodding. “Okay.”

His dad’s face softened. “C’mere, buddy,” he whispered, pulling him in for a hug.

Peter returned the hug, crying into his dad’s shoulder. He never mentioned his comforting inner voice, or the blackouts, or the fogginess that had been lingering ever since he’d woken up. He never mentioned it, because his dad didn’t need to know.

.  
.  
.

The third tipoff should have been how he didn’t remember his parents’ deaths.

One minute he’d been crying, hugging his parents good-bye as they dropped him off at Auntie May and Uncle Ben’s apartment, and the next, he’d been sitting on the couch, watching TV, Uncle Ben’s arm slung around him, a blanket covering them as Auntie May cooked something in the kitchen.

“Uncle Ben?” he mumbled, mind foggier than ever. The room spun. What was going on? What had happened?

“Peter?” Ben shot up, eyes wide. “Oh- oh my god. Pete, are you- are you with us?” Ben grabbed his shoulders, turning Peter to face him.

“Peter?!” May gasped, hurrying over to the living room. She crouched in front of him, hands on his lap, and stared up at him with wide, unbelieving eyes.

Peter frowned. What was all the fuss about? He looked over at the TV, then back at his aunt and uncle. “Um, what’s going on?” he asked, tilting his head.

May and Ben exchanged a look with each other. His frown deepened.

“Peter, honey, do you- do you remember what happened?” May asked softly, her voice low and hesitant.

“Um, Mommy and Daddy dropped me off? To go on their trip?” he answered meekly, unsure if anything had happened between then.

“Pete, your… your mom and dad, they…” May choked out a sob.

His forehead creased in worry. “Auntie May? What happened?”

“They-”

“Peter, your parents… they’re gone.” Ben answered softly.

Peter frowned. “What- what do you mean, gone?” he asked, his body beginning to tremble.

“They’re… they’re dead, Pete.”

Peter gaped, then realization flooded his mind. His eyes welled up with tears and his fists clenched the fabric of the couch beneath him.

“Oh.”

“I’m so sorry, Pete,” May whispered, launching forward to wrap him into a hug, “I can’t imagine what this has been like for you. You suddenly just went silent and unresponsive, your Uncle Ben and I didn’t know what to do. We thought it was just your way of coping with the grief, but, god, for two weeks? Sweetie, we were so worried.”

“Two weeks?” he choked out, arms hanging limply by his sides.

May squeezed him tighter. Ben placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Two weeks. That was the longest yet.

And still, Peter stayed silent.

.  
.  
.

The fourth tipoff should have been that he couldn't remember most of his trip to Stark Expo.

For weeks beforehand, he’d been begging Uncle Ben and Aunt May to let him go. The tickets weren’t that expensive this year, and Iron Man was going to be there! Iron Man!! He desperately wanted to see all of Mr. Stark’s new inventions- Ned had been chattering about them nonstop for the last few months, especially about his arc reactor. The two had worked endlessly to try to figure out how it worked, and the only solution they’d been able to come to had involved nuclear fusion and palladium, which just couldn’t be right- it was too difficult!

Eventually, after weeks of begging and pleading (and doing extra chores around the apartment), Ben agreed to buy him a ticket.

The entire ride there, Peter was buzzing with energy. His legs kicked the driver’s seat until Ben told him sternly to stop. He bounced in his seat, a grin splitting across his face. They checked in, got their lanyards, looked at a few products, walked around, got some food, and-

Peter woke up. He rubbed his eyes, feeling sick and groggy, and looked at his watch.

Saturday. _Saturday._

His eyes filled with tears. Had he really missed the entire expo? He sniffled, wiping his teary eyes with his sleeve.

 _“Sorry buddy,”_ a new version of his inner voice said, _“it was for the best, though.”_ This new inner voice sounded a bit like Tony Stark, but he ignored it and angrily got up.

Ben hugged him as soon as he stumbled out of his room. He didn’t understand why, until he saw the robots on the news.

He hated how he kept missing important moments in his life, even if they were bad moments, but he kept his mouth shut and didn’t say a word.

.  
.  
.

The fifth tipoff should have been that, much like with his first babysitter, Peter couldn’t remember Skip Westcott.

It all felt eerily familiar- the bruises on his thighs, the sore legs, how he woke up feeling sticky and sweaty and gross, faint whispers of _“hey, Einstein”_ and _“don’t tell anyone”_ lingering in his head even though he couldn’t remember where he’d heard them before.

“May?” he asked one day after school while he was taking a break from his math homework.

“Yeah? What’s up?” she responded from the kitchen, another pot clanging as she loaded it into the dishwasher.

“Um,” he began, “is there anything weird about…” he hesitated a moment, not quite remembering his babysitter’s name, “Skip? Like, at all?”

There was a clang as she set another pot down on the counter. She turned around, a frown on her face. “Whaddya mean, Pete?”

He shifted uncomfortably, hands fidgeting in his lap. “Um, he reminds me of… my old babysitter. My parents got rid of her after a month, something about her being…” he remembered his inner voice’s words, “awful?”

May walked over to him and leaned over the back of the couch, resting her head on her hands. “Awful?” she asked with a quizzical tilt of the head.

“Yeah, something like that. I dunno, they seemed to hate her.”

“Well, I mean, your Uncle Ben’s gonna take a few weeks of vacation soon, you don’t have to keep seeing Skip if you don’t want to.” She frowned further, “Peter, this kind of came from nowhere. You two seem like such good friends. He calls you ‘Einstein’ and everything, I don’t unders-”

May’s voice faded out. Peter’s vision clouded over and he felt the telltale spaciness that always signaled a blackout. His head pounded, he raised a hand to cover his eyes, blinked, and-

“Hey Pete, how was school?”

 _“Fantastic,”_ his inner voice- the one that sounded like Iron Man- drawled sarcastically.

He looked at the calendar in the apartment’s entrance and set down his backpack. March twenty-fifth, it read- it had been a full day since his conversation with May.

“Good!” he called back, shrugging off his jacket and removing his shoes. Inner-voice Iron Man snorted. He ignored it.

“I called Skip,” May said, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, her apron messy and a dirty whisk grasped in one hand, “he said he’s sad he won’t see you again, but he wishes you well.”

_“Good riddance.”_

Peter nodded. “Okay. What’s for dinner?”

He never said a word about the blackout episode. May didn’t need to know.

.  
.  
.

The sixth tipoff should have been when he found the video on May’s phone.

Nothing out of the ordinary had happened that day- Flash was an incompetent jerk, Ned rambled on about a new LEGO set that was due to come out soon, hell, he hadn’t experienced another blackout episode for a few weeks, at least not that he was aware of. The Parkers had just finished dinner a little while ago, and Peter had been in his room finishing up his Spanish homework.

“Hey Peter! Can you grab my phone?” May called from the sitting area.

“Yeah!” he called back, happy for the distraction from his work. His joints protested standing up- a quick glance at the clock told him that he’d been working for over an hour now. “Where is it?”

“On my bed! Thanks!”

Peter made his way to May and Ben’s room. He still had a few minutes before May would be expecting him to bring it to her, she wouldn’t notice if he took a quick peek, would she?He picked up the phone and looked back to make sure May wasn’t in sight. Once he was sure, he typed in her password- Ben’s birthday- and opened the Photos app.

He liked looking through May’s photos. She didn’t keep anything weird on her camera roll, thankfully, it was mainly selfies of her and her friends or her fellow nurses at the hospital, aesthetically-pleasing pictures of the family, and random videos she took periodically. He liked to scroll through every few months and giggle at the memories.

May hadn’t updated it much since the last time he’d looked- a few pictures of him and Ben, some failed cooking experiments, a video here and there, nothing out of the ordinary. He snickered at one particular video of one of May’s culinary… explorations- he didn’t know what it was and he didn’t need to know, the fact that it exploded like she’d mixed Caesium into water was enough for him.

But then, he came across one particular video, taken only a few weeks ago, that made him pause. He played it back, over and over, just to make sure he’d seen it properly.

The video showed he and Ben, snuggling together on the couch. Video-Peter absolutely melted into Ben’s side as his uncle ran his hands through his hair. “He’s asleep!” Video-Ben snickered, trying to keep his voice quiet. May wheezed from somewhere behind the camera.

“Aw, he’s so precious like this,” Video-May cooed, zooming in as the camera shook in her grip.

Video-Ben grinned at her and rubbed Video-Peter’s shoulder. “He’s been so stressed with Skip and his schoolwork lately, it’s good he’s finally taking a break.”

“Yeah,” Video-May agreed.

Video-Peter’s eyes flickered open, and he giggled sleeping when Ben poked his side.

Peter couldn’t bear to watch the rest of the video. He swiped out of the app and closed the phone, sucking in a shaky breath.

Why couldn’t he _remember_ stuff like this happening? What was happening to him? Why was he forgetting those precious moments with his family?

He blinked away his tears- when had he started crying?- and delivered the phone to May.

“You alright, kiddo?” she asked, concern in her voice.

“Allergies,” he sniffed, “I’m going back to my room.”

He never brought it up.

.  
.  
.

The seventh tipoff should have been that he couldn’t remember his school’s field trip to Oscorp.

He remembered touring a few of the labs, Ned practically vibrating with excitement as he clutched Peter’s arm. He too had been buzzing. He’d never been in a lab so official before. It was invigorating! He hated that they couldn’t take pictures.

He remembered eating lunch in the cafeteria- a ham sandwich May had packed last-minute, if he recalled correctly- and remembered walking down a hallway, encapsulated, until he realized that he was far, far away from his tour group, and he was alone in a strange facility, in a strange lab that he had no idea existed. He took out his camera to take a few pictures, when he caught sight of a spider crawling across the desk and-

He woke up. He grimaced at how hot and sweaty it was under his blankets and was quick to throw them off. A glass of water, a packet of Ibuprofen, and a thermometer sat on his nightside table, and a bucket rested on the floor next to him.

“May?!” he called out, slightly afraid to find out how much time he’d lost.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, poking her head into the doorway, “You’re up! How ya feelin’, Pete?”

“Um, fine, I think?” That was a lie. The room was spinning and he felt foggy-headed and sick, but he attributed that to his blackout episode and not to the sickness he’d clearly experienced.

“That’s a relief,” she smiled gently. Peter noticed the bags under her eyes. “The doctor said we might have had to go to the hospital if you got any worse. You’ve been out of it for a week, Peter.”

A _week?!_ His stomach dropped. That was his second-longest blackout yet, only topped by the two weeks he couldn't remember after his parents' deaths.

“Oh, uh, well- I’m good now! I think I’ll go catch up with Ned…” he stammered awkwardly.

 _“Oh no you won’t,”_ his snarky inner voice cut in.

“Nope,” she interrupted, meandering over to the side of his bed to take his temperature. “You were just sick for an entire week, you need to rest for a day or two. Ned can wait.” She paused, reading the thermometer after it beeped. “99.2. Low-grade, but you’ll live.” She patted his cheek. “Want anything? I made chicken broth, and I think there’s some tea left too.”

“Um, broth sounds good,” he answered.

She smiled. “Alright, I’ll getcha a bowl. Anything else you need?”

“No, I think I’m okay for now.”

“Okay. You rest up now, alright? We don’t want round two.”

He nodded. Once May left, he reached for his phone, turning it on.

Huh. It really _had_ been an entire week.

Ned had blown up his phone with two hundred missed messages. Two hundred! That had to be some kind of record. He shot him a quick _‘lmao sorry fam I was sick for awhile’_ to soothe his friend's nerves and shut off his phone.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think about how much time he’d lost.

.  
.  
.

The eighth tipoff should have been that he couldn’t remember the time he met Tony Stark.

He’d been having weird dreams for weeks. He dreamt he was swinging, the wind rushing past his ears. He dreamt about fighting crime, about helping little old ladies cross the street, about climbing walls. He assumed it had to do with Spider-Man- he was pretty cool, he wasn't going to lie. Not as cool as Iron Man, but he was definitely up there. Maybe he was just projecting.

On the other hand, his blackouts had increased exponentially. His inner voices increased too, all three yammering on almost nonstop all hours of the day. It made it impossible to concentrate on anything. He felt tired all the time and couldn’t remember anything past doing his homework and eating dinner.

This particular day had been pretty good, by his standards. Flash hadn’t picked on him that much, he nailed his Algebra test, he found a perfectly-good DVD player just sitting on top of a dumpster that, with a bit of cleaning, would function just fine.

It was a bit of a shock, however, to come home and find the Actual-Tony-Freaking-Stark sitting on the couch, eating a loaf of bread with his aunt.

Mr. Stark clearly had some ulterior motive, if the hasty lying about a grant with the September Foundation was anything to go by, but Peter had no idea what it was. They went to his room, Peter trembling with nerves. He turned the handle, let Mr. Stark in before him, shut the door behind him, pressed a hand to his face, and woke up.

He let out a frustrated yell, banging a fist on his nightstand. “Peter? Everything okay?” May called.

“Fine,” he gritted out. Angry tears pricked at his eyes.

 _“You have an internship with Mr. Stark,”_ the inner voice- the one that sounded like a teenage boy- informed him. That couldn’t be right, Mr. Stark was so clearly lying about the grant, but the voice insisted.

Why did the fucking voice in his head have to tell him what had happened? Why couldn’t he remember _anything?!_ . . . 

The final tipoff should have been when he woke up to find himself in Stark Tower’s Medbay.

Before he even opened his eyes, the disgustingly-sterile smell of sanitization products burned his nostrils. Light flooded into his eyes, even through his eyelids, and he winced.

“FRIDAY? Dim the lights,” someone vaguely-familiar muttered from somewhere on his left.

The lights dimmed, and Peter summoned the strength to open his eyes a bit.

“Hey Pete, what’s the last thing you remember?” the person asked again.

The last thing he’d remembered had to have been completing his chem homework and shoving it into his backpack, before the inevitable nightly blackout had occurred. He frowned, his eyes adjusting to the room, a dull ache settling in behind his eyes.

“Homework?” he coughed, voice gravelly, “Whas- whas goin’ on?”

 _“Yeah, definitely homework,”_ his inner voice- the Iron Man one- snarked.

His eyes flew open. “Shit! Where am I?!” He bolted upright, immediately regretting the decision as pain flooded into every nerve of his body.

“Woah, buddy!” the person cried. Hands found their way onto Peter’s shoulders and forced him back down onto the bed. “You took quite a beating. You went through two hours of surgery. I don’t think Cho would appreciate it if you tore open your stitches that quickly.”

He frowned and turned towards the person. He could feel the blood drain out of his face. “Mis-Mr. Stark?” he choked out, trying to ignore the grogginess that lingered from his blackout episode.

“The one and only,” Mr. Stark chuckled, though worry was evident on his features. “You don’t remember _anything_ that happened?”

He shook his head, wincing as the pounding intensified. “No, sorry. Um, what happened, exactly?”

Mr. Stark sighed, hanging his head. “Some petty criminal attacked you after you stopped him from mugging a civilian. Turns out he had some illegal alien tech. Long story short, Karen forced you to call for backup, the explosion happened, bada bing bada boom, three pieces of shrapnel removed from your stomach and eight hours later, you finally woke up.”

Peter gaped.

“Why would I fight a criminal? And why would I be involved in a _freaking explosion?!”_

Mr. Stark looked like a fish out of water. “Um, kiddo, you’re kind of a mutant? Ya know? Spider-Man? Geez, he must have really done a number on you if you don’t remember that.”

Peter’s breath picked up and his eyes widened. It felt like someone was trying to force their way forward, and he pushed back as hard as he could in his fit of panic. “Hey, hey, kiddo, try to breathe for me, okay?” Mr. Stark frantically tried to soothe, a hand coming up to place firm pressure on his shoulder. “That’s it,” he praised as Peter sucked in a shaky breath.

“‘M gonna blackout,” he slurred, the fogginess increasing, a headache exploding behind his eyes.

“No you’re not,” Mr. Stark reassured, “just breathe, okay? Follow my lead, in for one, two, three, four, out for one, two…”

Peter blinked and woke up at the dinner table. He glanced at his phone- four days had passed.

“Peter, are you okay?” May frowned, setting down her fork.

He gulped nervously. _“No, don’t say anything,”_ the teenaged inner voice warned.

 _“It’s all under control,”_ a new voice, one that sounded eerily like himself, agreed.

 _“No! Peter, you need help!”_ the female voice cried.

 _“Please, ask!”_ another new voice- a child, from the sounds of it- begged pleadingly.

 _“He’ll be safer if he tells her,”_ the Iron Man voice chimed in.

 _“No! Everything will be ruined if he opens his mouth!”_ the teenager shrieked.

He turned to face his aunt, clenching a napkin in one hand and his fork in the other, head spinning from the chaos ringing inside of his head.

“May? I think… I think something’s wrong with me.”

.  
.  
.

“So, Peter, what brings you in today?” the doctor, a woman in her late thirties with blond-streaked hair and blue eyes, asked, settling down into a spinny chair with her clipboard.

“Um,” he turned to his aunt for reassurance. She nodded. He turned back to the psychologist. “I think something’s wrong.”

“Can you define ‘wrong?’” she asked. He glanced at her clipboard- Dr. Winner, the back of it read.

He sank back into the couch and dug his nails into his thighs. The voices in his head had been silent, ever since the night where he confessed to May. He hadn’t explained further, just that he thought he needed help. Being as amazing as she was, she agreed, citing that she’d noticed something was off for quite some time. He’d told her that he woken up in the Stark Tower’s Medbay with Mr. Stark himself claiming to know him, and she agreed to let him come on the condition that he tell her what was going on with his internship if he did. He was sitting in the waiting room outside, waiting for the two to come out. He didn’t feel quite comfortable enough, having someone he’d met only twice before being in the same room as him during a psychological evaluation.

“I… don’t really know where to start,” he admitted quietly.

“Well, that’s alright,” she smiled warmly, crossing one leg over the other. “Can I ask you some questions to see if I can rule out a few things?”

“Sure,” he nodded, glancing quickly over at his aunt. She smiled at him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He was glad she was allowed to be in the room, privacy be damned. He just wanted to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

“So, right off the bat, have you been feeling depressed lately?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Have your grades been slipping?”

“A little,” he admitted.

“Why is that?”

“Um,” he thought for a moment, “I’m tired a lot. I don’t get much sleep, I don’t think.”

“You don’t think?” she questioned.

He shrugged. “I don’t really know. I, ah- don’t remember when I go to bed most nights.”

“I see,” she jotted something down. “Are you stressed or anxious, or has a stressful event occured recently?”

“Um, my uncle died a few months ago,” he answered honestly, “but whatever is happening to me… it started a long time ago.”

She glanced at him over her glasses. “How long ago would you say that the symptoms started?”

“My… whole life, I guess.”

“Your whole life?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “it wasn’t really a big deal, back then, but it’s gotten worse over time.”

“What’s gotten worse?” she asked as she wrote.

“Ah- the blackouts. You know? Everytime something stressful happened, I’d just… black out, and I’d wake up in a completely different spot. It’s gotten worse, though. Now it happens almost every day, and I’m losing more and more time.”

She frowned, then looked as though she remembered something.

“These blackouts, can you describe them?”

“Um, okay? Uh… well, I normally can feel them coming on,” he answered a bit hesitantly- he’d never told anyone about his issues before, so it felt a little strange. “I get dizzy and a bit… a bit spacey, I think. I get a headache, and I blink, and suddenly I’m somewhere else. Afterwards I feel sick and I have an awful headache.”

Dr. Winner nodded. “How long do they last?”

“It depends,” he answered. “I think the longest was after my parents died. I blacked out for two weeks, maybe a bit longer. They’re usually shorter, though. A few hours, maybe a few days every once in a while.”

“They’ve happened since then?” May frowned, forehead creasing in worry. “I thought it was just the one time.”

Guilt rose within him, and he shoved it down. “They, uh, happened- they happened before my parents… you know. I had a babysitter when I was little. I’d black out a ton when she was over. They stopped happening once my parents got rid of her.”

“Is that why you wanted to get rid of Skip?” she breathed as a look of realization crossed her face. “That… makes a lot of sense now.”

“This babysitter,” Dr. Winner began, “what do you remember about her?”

“I, uh, don’t. Remember much,” he admitted, “I would wake up with bruises on my thighs and my legs would be sore. My mom saw one day, when she was givin’ me a bath, and then they got rid of her.” As he spoke, he suddenly came to a stark realization. “Oh- she… she… abused me,” he whispered, eyes wide and face no doubt pale.

Dr. Winner nodded, lips pressed into a firm line. “Severe, repeated childhood trauma,” she muttered under her breath. Had it not been for his almost superhuman hearing, Peter wouldn’t have heard her. His brow furrowed. “Hey, Peter, were there any other events in your childhood that you don’t remember?”

“Yeah, lots,” he nodded, still coming to terms with his realization. “Um, I don’t remember Stark Expo, at least not the whole ‘robot invasion’ thing. My memories of Skip are hazy- Skip was my babysitter for a while. I… I think he… abused me, too. Um. Anyway. I got bullied a lot in elementary school. Can’t remember that, either. Ummmm, Oscorp. My class took a field trip there. I can’t remember the second half of it. Apparently I was sick for a week after, but I don’t remember that either. Oh! I don’t remember talking to Mr. Stark about my… uh, about my internship.”

May looked stricken with some emotion that he couldn’t place. Dr. Winner frantically scrawled on the clipboard. “All… all that, Pete?” she whispered, eyes wide and teary.

He nodded.

“Okay, last question, then I’m gonna refer you to someone, alright?” Dr. Winner asked, a bit solemnly when compared to before. He nodded again. “Do you ever hear voices?”

“I mean, yeah?” he answered, a bit hesitantly, head whipping back and forth between his aunt and the psychiatrist. “Doesn’t everyone got that inner voice? Voices?”

“Well, yes, but I mean, do you hear _voices?_ Are they more than just your thoughts or self-deprecating ideas about yourself? Do they sound like you, or do they sound like someone else?”

“Oh, yeah,” he confirmed.

“How many would you say you’ve heard? And what do they say?”

He thought about the question for a minute. “There’s a lot, actually, I’m not sure how many. A teenage boy, I think, he’s like, a college student. He yells at me a lot, but I don’t think he means it. A woman, she’s pretty nice. She helped me when I was bullied, she taught me how to give myself first-aid. There’s one that almost sounds like Mr. Stark. He’s sarcastic and never shuts up.” As he spoke, Dr. Winner nodded along, writing on her clipboard. May’s face got paler and paler.

“Then there’s one I haven’t heard in awhile, I’ve only heard him a few times, a few years ago. Uhhhh… Oh! There’s a little kid, too. Not sure how old he’s s’posed to be, I only heard him once. Then there’s another one, too. Heard him about the same time I started hearing the kid. He sounds like me.”

Dr. Winner finished up her writing and nodded. “That’s all in line. I think I can recommend you to a specialist.”

Peter frowned. “What is it?”

“I think you might have Dissociative Identity Disorder,” she said bluntly, removing a packet from the clipboard and standing up so she could cross the room to hand it to him. Aunt May leaned in to read over his shoulder.

He looked up after he skimmed it. “I- I don’t understand. What is- what’s Dissoci-whatever Disorder?”

“Dissociative Identity Disorder, DID,” she corrected, “I’m not too informed on it, but it’s a type of dissociative disorder where your mind basically dissociates and fragments into separate identities in order to deal with severe trauma. The trauma has to have been severe, and happened before the age of nine, and you fit both criteria.” She handed him another sheet, this one having various phone numbers, names, and addresses printed on it. “Here’s a list of specialists in Queens, as well as a list of specialists outside of Queens. You can decide which one you want to go to. I recommend one of the ones near the top, those tend to specialize specifically in dissociative disorders.”

Peter nodded, worrying his lip between his teeth. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you so much,” May reiterated, standing to shake Dr. Winner’s hand. “Hopefully this will help him find a therapist.”

Dr. Winner beamed. “Of course! That’s my job. Now, we can discuss payment options…”

 _“Hey kid. Been a few days.”_ Peter jumped at the sudden voice, quickly glancing over to make sure that neither women had seen him startle.

 _‘Um.. hi?’_ he tried to respond in his head. A feeling of warmth spread all through his body, flooding his extremities and sending a delightful, almost happy, tingling sensation through them. _‘Who are you?’_

 _“Iron Man,”_ the voice- Iron Man, apparently, answered.

 _‘Why didn’t you tell me you were here?’_ Peter frowned.

_“I did, you just didn’t put the pieces together til now. Gotta say, kid, for someone as bright as you, you’re actually pretty stupid sometimes.”_

Peter scoffed.

“Pete, honey? Everything okay?” May asked, a few papers tucked under her shoulder. “We’re gonna go meet with Mr. Stark now, tell him what happened. That sound good?”

He nodded.

 _“Ugh, it’s always weird, seeing the person you’re modeled after in real life,”_ Iron Man grumbled. Peter elected to ignore his complaining.

“Alright, you two have a good day,” Dr. Winner waved as they left.

Peter waved back and tried to ignore how Iron Man’s grumbling was increasing in volume. He rubbed his temples.

“Are you feeling okay?” May worriedly asked, now in full Mama Bear mode since they were alone in the hall. “I know today was… a lot, and it’s gonna take some getting used-to, and we don’t even know if you have this… DID, yet. But we’ll make it work, alright?”

“Yeah. I just can’t believe that there’s actually a condition for what I’ve been experiencing,” he admitted, fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie.

May hummed. Peter winced as the spaciness settled in. A headache pounded behind his eyes and he rubbed his temples again.

“Peter? Is everything okay?”

“I think…” he sucked in a breath, “Think Iron Man’s try… trying to come out, or some-somethin’,” he muttered weakly.

“Iron Man?” she questioned.

“Mhmm,” he nodded, pressing his hands to his face. _‘Hey, can you maybe not?’_ he snipped internally.

 _“Sorry, kiddo, is this uncomfortable or somethin’?”_ the response was immediate.

_‘Yeah. Uh, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t… make me black out during an important conversation with your alter-ego or something.’_

Iron Man scoffed, but he begrudgingly agreed. _“If you want, I can just sit back, ya know? I don’t think I can go back just yet, but I don’t have to take over.”_

Peter’s brow furrowed in confusion. _‘Take over?’_ _“What do you think’s been happening while you’re out?”_ Iron Man asked rhetorically. _“Are you sure that you’re as smart as your grades say you are?”_

“Hey, earth to Peter,” Mr. Stark’s fingers snapped in front of his face. He flinched, turning to the side to face the older man. “What’s up?”

“Oh, uh, sorry, got lost in thought there,” he apologized.

Mr. Stark scoffed, exactly like Iron Man, but let the half-assed excuse be.

“So, kid, your insanely hot aunt has informed me that you might have this Dissociated thingy? Disorder? Whatever it is. Apparently you don’t know me too well.”

“Mhm,” Peter nodded, “I’ve only met you twice.”

“So someone else’s been meeting me then?” Tony questioned. “Who?”

Peter shrugged, frowning as his headache returned. He felt a sort of… switch, almost, like a lever had been pulled, and suddenly he wasn’t the one in control of his body.

“What’s happening?” Peter’s voice asked, though Peter hadn’t been the one to ask it. “Not throwing Spidey headlong into trouble, I hope? I’m gonna have some words if you are.”

“Spidey?” May asked, then shook her head, focusing on the road. “Today’s been weird, I’m not gonna question it. Who are you?”

“Alex,” the person in control responded, then paused. “Peter’s still here. Iron Man too, I think.”

“Why’d you come out?” Tony asked.

“Peter felt threatened by your question. It’s my job to make sure he doesn’t feel threatened. Actually, well, I’m here to make sure he takes care of himself, since literally everyone else is absolute shit at that.”

 _“Hey!”_ Iron Man protested.

Peter gulped, still unsure of what was happening. Alex laughed.

“What’s got you giggling back there?” May asked. Alex turned her head, letting Peter and Iron Man see the expression on her face.

“Iron Man says hi.”

_“I do not! Peter, tell her I don’t.”_

Peter startled, still very confused as to what was happening. _“Um, I-”_

“Oh, and Peter’s confused. I think this is his first time sharing the headspace.”

“Yeah, um… what’s with the whole… Iron Man thingie?” Tony questioned with a noncommittal flap of his hand.

“Him? Oh, he’s an egotistical jerk. Came in after Stark Expo. He means well, but he’s a sarcastic little douche.”

“And Iron Man is… based on the real Iron Man, I presume?”

Alex snickered. “Yeah, I think both of you find it awkward.”

Tony shook his head. “Right. Well, the ‘egotistical jerk’ comment aside, I wanna know who I’ve been meeting with this whole time, because it’s obviously not you, Peter, or Iron Man.”

Peter felt a tug on his lips as Alex frowned. “I honestly don’t know him very well. He keeps to himself, I don’t see him very much. The headspace, you know, where me and the others live, exists in Queens. Spider-Man pretty much swings around all the time. I haven’t had the chance to meet him very well yet.”

“His name’s Spider-Man? No other name? Alias?”

Alex shook her head. “Not that I know of. Like I said, I don’t know him very well. Truth be told, I only really know Peter and the children. I didn’t even know that there were others aside from them and Iron Man until recently, since we work together so much. I’m surprised that Peter actually knew the others before he even knew something was up.”

“Hm, well, I guess that makes enough sense.”

Peter winced as a pain shot through his head. Alex must have felt it too, because she swayed a little in her seat and pressed a hand to her face. Peter felt a weird sensation, almost as if he was being pushed forward, and suddenly he was back in his body. Iron Man lingered, but Alex was gone.

“Alex?”

“No, it’s Peter,” he mumbled, trying to blink away the dizziness. His stomach churned a little, but he swallowed against it, focusing his energy on breathing in and out as slowly as he could.

“Good to have ya back, kiddo,” Tony said- when exactly had he become Tony?- and reached over to ruffle Peter’s hair.

“I’m gonna schedule that appointment as soon as we get back,” May cut in, startling the both of them. Peter had almost forgotten she was there in the hazy mist of confusion brought on by Alex’s sudden appearance (and disappearance). “And I think we’re gonna have a long talk about this later.”

Peter nodded apprehensively. That made sense, he supposed.

 _“Wow, spoil-sport,”_ Iron Man grumbled, _“Way to ruin a perfectly good afternoon.”_

Peter rolled his eyes, hoping Iron Man could sense it. _‘This afternoon has not been good in any way.’_ _“Not true!”_ he protested, _“Kiddo, you figured out that we existed. You figured out that you might have DID, and now you can get treatment and work with the rest of us. You can start to get better, Pete.”_

Peter hummed, letting Tony and May’s conversation fade into the background.

_‘Yeah, I guess I can.’_

He looked out the window, watching as cars and buildings zipped by, and let a tiny smile cross his face.

For the first time in a long time, things were actually starting to look up.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I hope you liked this! Again, I don't have DID, nor do I know anyone personally who has DID, so please let me know if I got anything wrong.
> 
> I took inspiration from another work [I don't remember the name, but I'm sure if you go to the DID tag and set the filters to include Spider-Man, you'll find it], and I also took inspiration from many other sources, such as DissociaDID, MultiplicityAndMe, @thebuttonsystem, and many other systems on Instagram, Tumblr, and other websites. I also used the DSM-5 as inspiration for the questions that Dr. Winner asks.
> 
> Switching: It's common to feel spacey, dissociated, or even have a headache in the moments before a switch happens, hence why I included it in this story. Also, from what I've heard from quite a number of sources, it's also common to feel nauseous and lightheaded after a switch has happened.
> 
> Inner World: In this story, nobody really knows the technical terms for things, since DID is new to them, but Alex explains their inner world [Queens] as a headspace, which is another term for it.
> 
> Amnesia: Neither Peter nor his other alters really know that each other exists [minus Alex knowing about Iron Man/the child alter/Peter, since she's the system's caretaker, and Peter hearing his alters' voices in his head], but once they figure out they might have DID, those amnesia walls start to break down, and they become increasingly aware of each others' presences.
> 
> System Roles: It's never explicitly stated, but I left enough evidence within the story to come up with what roles everybody has. Peter is the "core" and the host. Spider-Man is a co-host, since he's out a lot as well, and also functions as a way to block off the Spider-Man identity from Peter and the others. Alex is a caretaker. The child alter [and the other children she mentions] are littles. The teenage boy is a gatekeeper. Iron Man is their primary protector.
> 
> Factives: Iron Man is a factive of, obviously, Iron Man. He's sarcastic and snarky like Tony himself, but he, at his core, is very protective. Peter looked up to him and saw him as someone he could count on to keep him safe, hence why he is their system's protector.
> 
> Please let me know if I missed anything. I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> -Pat <3


End file.
